I feel like the more you know me the more you hate me. You hate my home, you hate my family. You think I'm sick; you're scared of what's going to happen. Nothing's going to happen unless you want it to, that's the sick part. I would do anything you asked, if I knew it made you happy for even a second. I've bruised my body and I'd break my bones to make you giggle, and that's why you're scared. I think ultimately you're scared of yourself. You can't have that much power, that much worship from someone because you don't know what to do with it yourself, but I believe you could do anything you wanted. You can't hurt me, it's not in your nature, so just get over it and use me. Make me do whatever you want. Mold me into the shape of your former lovers so I can be the perfect amalgam of everything you've ever liked, wrapped up into one bundle. Even now, I look at my form through the lens of your criticism and I'm taking steps to alter it. I'm changing for you when you aren't looking. I hope you like what I'll become, and when I'm done, I can stop thinking this, and be normal, just like you want me to be.